


'cause you're in my head (even if you want me dead)

by peterandhispirate



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Chubby Josh, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fuckboy!Tyler, M/M, nerd!josh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8541274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: Tyler sure loves to kick Josh's ass.





	

It had been like this since the sixth grade. Of course, with each passing year Tyler seemed to get stronger; more vengeful. 

They're in the eleventh grade now - juniors - and Josh has yet to get used to the feeling of Joseph's fists against his face. You'd think that after six years of this bullshit he'd have adjusted to it, but that wasn't the case. Just because he pretty much lived with the outline of Tyler's knuckles imprinted on his cheek didn't mean he had to accept it as "part of life."

Something Josh _did_ have to accept, however, was the fact that Tyler was a lean, rigorous, bloodthirsty basketball captain, and he... wasn't. He was the complete opposite, actually. 

Which is why it made it so easy for Tyler to beat the shit out of him day after day. Go figure.

It had gotten to the point where Josh knew exactly when he was about to get beat up before the first punch was even thrown; it was because the bastard always got that same fiery look in his dark eyes. And his upper lip would curl and his fists would clench and _dear god, here we go again_.

It always started out the same way, too: Josh would be innocently minding his own business, hurrying to class or retrieving something from his locker, and the next thing he knew Tyler would be stalking in his direction, wearing his usual snarling expression.

Everyone within a five-foot radius would immediately back off, looking sympathetic but ultimately leaving the basketball captain to his business. His bloody, soul-crushing business.

And then there would be fingers curling around Josh's wrist, yanking him in the direction of the boy's bathroom.

(Tyler may have been an asshole, but at least he didn't whoop Josh's ass in front of everyone.)

Usually, the entire "I'm gonna beat the shit out of you" exchange would last around fifteen minutes. After Tyler had gotten in a few good hits and Josh was dizzy and bleeding profusely from his nose, the former would find himself satisfied and leave the curly-haired mess to pick himself up.

But on one particular Tuesday morning, that routine was broken.

It started out as it usually did: Josh was rifling through his locker when Tyler approached him, pissed off (he had failed a test) and looking for some ~~thing~~ one to take out his anger on.

And who better than Josh Dun, his Personal Punching Bag?

Josh let out a yelp when Tyler grabbed him with more vigor than usual, causing him to drop all of his stuff and watch helplessly as it scattered across the tile floor, just begging to be stepped on by his uncaring peers.

Of course, he had bigger things to worry about than his belongings being walked over- things like a fuming Tyler Joseph, who was hauling him in the direction of the bathroom.

The minute the door swung shut behind them, Tyler was ripping into him with everything he had: his knuckles dug into Josh's soft underbelly, bruises already beginning to bloom beneath his victim's NASA t-shirt. Josh gasped in unspoken and breathless agony as he was shoved roughly backwards, the back of his skull hitting the wall with a dull _crack_.

(It was a wonder Tyler hadn't given him a concussion thus far.)

He stumbled, dazed and whimpering and struggling to hold himself up; this only seemed to piss Tyler off further, which is why he grabbed the dizzy boy by the collar and pressed him up against the very wall he had hit his head on seconds earlier.

Despite knowing he was completely fucked by that point, Josh squirmed weakly in his grip, babbling incoherent pleas while Tyler just narrowed his eyes and tightened his ruthless hold.

It wasn't long before he grew weary of listening to the desperate syllables spilling from Josh's mouth and growled "shut _up_ " before kneeing him in the stomach, satisfied by the choking gasp and eventual silence that followed (save for a few breathless whimpers here and there).

"Much better," Tyler sneered, to which Josh just looked blankly at him, chest heaving and head pounding and stomach aching and vision blurring.

Surely this wasn't fair. Tyler had been playing basketball since he was _ten_. And Josh... well, Josh didn't have that advantage, and it showed in his pudgy tummy and thighs and overall lack of muscle.

Like I said. Unfair.

Then again, it had never really been about fairness, had it? No, it had always been about Tyler and his constant need to beat the shit out of something. Something weak, something beneath him- an easy target.

And when you look at it that way, Josh was practically begging to get punched.

Which is why Tyler punched him. Again. And again. And _again_.

One hand gripping Josh's shoulder, pinning him against the grimy wall with ease, he used the other to pummel every inch of the soft boy he could reach. He struck him in the ribs and the jaw and the chest and the face, landing blows in a blind rage that left him panting when he was finally finished.

Releasing his lethal grip on Josh, Tyler watched as he sunk to the floor with a choked wheeze, breathless and bruised as blood seeped endlessly from his nose, staining the collar of his shirt. The same blood that was drying on Tyler's Nike's and speckling his knuckles an angry red.

And for a long moment he just stood there, staring down at the battered boy and blinking wordlessly when Josh stared right back from the floor, in too much pain to bother lifting a hand to wipe away the blood dribbling down his busted lips and dripping from his chin.

For the first time in six years, Tyler felt the need to apologize. But he didn't. He just said, "You look like hell."

And Josh, the poor bastard, actually _laughed_. Knees pulled to his chest and eyes closed, he leaned his pounding head back against the wall and chuckled; his voice was a weak and raspy tremble when he replied, "Yeah? And whose fault is that?"

Having nothing to say to that, Tyler decided he had nothing better to do at the time and joined him on the greasy bathroom floor, slumping down beside him with his back pressed against the graffiti-ridden wall. Josh's eyes fluttered, taking him in briefly before shutting again.

There they sat for the next few minutes, silent save for the rattling of Josh's chest as he inhaled and exhaled painfully. Tyler found himself wincing and wanting to ask if he was okay.

He didn't, so Josh took it upon himself to break the silence: "Why're you so angry all the time?"

Tyler glanced over at him indignantly, scowling. "M'not angry all the time."

" _Ha_." Cracking open an eye to look at him in what could only be described as amusement, Josh croaked, "Like hell you're not."

"What, you think just because you're a weak bitch and can't take a few punches that I have anger issues or something?" Tyler snorted. "Not my fault that you have the stamina of a newborn fawn. A _chubby_ newborn fawn."

With that, it was quiet again.

It wasn't long before Tyler was dragging himself up from the floor, telling himself that he was leaving solely because he was bored, not because listening to Josh's pained breathing depressed him beyond words.

He made his way towards the door without so much as a glance backwards, but god knows it took all of his strength not to reply when Josh rasped "see you later, Joseph" just before the door swung shut behind him.

 

;

 

Josh, model citizen that he was, kept his promise; the very next morning they were in the exact same position that they had been in the day before, and the day before that: Tyler's hands at Josh's collar, Tyler's eyes watching Josh squirm and plead, Tyler's fist meeting Josh's soft stomach, Tyler's sneer as the bruised boy with straight A's and messy hair doubled over with sobs of utmost agony.

Except this time, when Tyler was done with his daily shattering of the poor kid's soul, he didn't just wipe his bloodied hands on his jeans and walk out. No. For the second time in six years, he stayed.

Life really is full of surprises. And Tyler Joseph settling down on the filthy bathroom floor beside Joshua Dun is perhaps one of the most shocking surprises of all.

It took a long moment for it to register in Josh's dizzy, bruised skull that Tyler was sitting next to him. Again.

_Again_.

And when it finally did register, he laughed. He laughed a wheezy, raspy, blood-in-his-mouth laugh. A laugh that made his already throbbing stomach ache with the sheer sincerity of it.

Tyler looked at him like he was crazy. And maybe he was- just a little bit. Can over a thousand days of getting the shit beat out of you for no apparent reason do that to a person? Knock a few screws loose? Who knows. All that mattered was that Tyler had just thrown Josh around like a fucking rag-doll, and now he was sitting next to him as if nothing had happened.

After a few moments of wheezing, breathless, teary-eyed laughter had passed, Tyler (frankly feeling left out of some hilarious gag) found himself mumbling with a frown, "What's so damn funny?"

"Nothing," Josh snorted after the last chuckle had died in his throat; he wiped at his damp eyes with the back of one hand, and tears mixed with blood as he went on to explain, "It's just- this. This whole thing. You and me, sitting side by side, like old friends or something- when you just beat the _shit_ out of me- dear god, who would've thought."

_Not me, that's for sure,_ Tyler thought grimly to himself. And for some reason, he didn't feel compelled to leave just yet.

(It wasn't long before he was immensely regretting his decision to stay.)

"You never answered my question, you know." It was easy; nonchalant. Way too calm for someone who had just been beaten senseless.

Ironically enough, Tyler would _kill_ for that sort of serene disposition.

Speaking of Tyler, he furrowed his brows as soon as the statement's last syllable fell from Josh's busted lips. "What question, exactly?"

"All that anger," Josh murmured, casting him a curious sidelong glance. "Where does it _come_ from?"

And just like that Tyler reclaimed his role as the cynic, the bully, the moody basketball captain; upper lip curled in a sneer, he growled, "Are you my fucking therapist now or what?"

"I guess not." A weak shrug of the shoulders. "Maybe I was just curious as to what your motives would be for making my life a living hell for the past six years."

Tyler didn't flinch. He _refused_ to flinch. So instead of recoiling he just amped up the asshole attitude: "I don't owe you any explanations, you tubby bastard."

While Tyler couldn't bring himself to wince, Josh's pride had been permanently slain back when he was twelve, so he had no problem grimacing when those six words were thrown in his face. Not only did he flinch, but he hugged his knees tighter to his chest - to hide his pudgy stomach from view, Tyler decided - and stared at his shoes. And then he was mumbling "fair enough" with cheeks tinted pink, despite the fact that this had _never_ been fair. Ever.

And Tyler could feel his heart wilting in his chest, but he'd sooner let it die than show any remorse for some chubby, messy-haired, fragile _freak_.

And yet... he stayed. For the next five minutes, he sat there beside the boy that he had made bleed time and time again. He sat and listened to the raspy breathing and watched blood drip onto the filthy tiles from the corner of his eye.

He thought about standing up, getting the bruised boy some paper towels to wipe at his bloody nose with.

He never did.

 

;

 

They lost.

They lost the game, and it was all Tyler's fault. He should have calculated the shot better, he should have fucking calculated it better and he _knew_ that and, god, he was pissed off. At himself (for fucking it up), at the other team (for obvious reasons), and at the universe (for being against him from the start).

And we all know who Tyler turns to when he's angry.

In fact, the minute he stepped into the school, he made a beeline for Josh's locker. He knew he'd be there, looking innocent as ever, all messy hair and soft, sweet features. Chances are that he'd be pretty sleepy, too, seeing that it was so early in the morning and Tyler usually waited until the afternoon to kick his ass.

This time around, he was too furious to wait; sure enough, Josh was fumbling with his locker combination when he arrived, back turned and completely oblivious to the fuming basketball captain storming up behind him.

His blissful ignorance didn't last long, however: Tyler wasted no time grabbing him by the shoulder, catching the drowsy boy entirely off guard before dragging him off to the bathroom.

Tyler had him up against the wall in a matter of seconds, lip curled and grip on his collar tighter than ever. And Josh, who had woken up but an hour ago, could only stare at him with round eyes still a little glazed from recent sleep. He stared and Tyler stared right back, teeth bared and entire body radiating with fury.

"Well?" Josh spluttered after twenty straight seconds of stormy eye-contact, his voice raspy at the edges; from fear or just waking up, Tyler couldn't be sure. Something he _was_ sure of was that his anger, the rage that had been boiling hot in his stomach only moments ago, seemed to be fizzling out- only to spike again when Josh spat, "You gonna hit me or what?"

Yes. Yes, Tyler was going to hit him. He had every intention to.

Didn't he?

He was hesitating this time and they both knew it.

"Don't tell me..." Josh swallowed hard and nervous. "Don't tell me that you're _afraid_."

And, dear god, Tyler should slug him for that. Should make the bitch bleed for even _hinting_ that he'd be too scared to kick his sorry ass.

And Tyler thought about going through with it, he really did; it showed in the way the hands gripping Josh's collar tightened until the knuckles were white. It showed in the way that Tyler gritted his teeth, the way his body coiled and his eyes blazed like each and every layer of hell was trapped within them.

Josh, regretting his words immensely, flinched. Squeezed his eyes shut. Prepared for the worst.

It never came.

Because before he could comprehend what was happening, Tyler was growling "you're not worth my time, Dun" before releasing his hold on the bewildered Josh, who stumbled dazedly when his ratty tennis shoes hit the greasy bathroom floor.

And Tyler expected that to be it. As far as he was concerned, Josh would bolt for the door the first chance he got, (metaphorical) tail between his legs as he tripped over his own feet.

But Josh didn't move. Not an inch. He just stared at Tyler like a deer caught in some very moody headlights.

(All of a sudden, the whole "chubby newborn fawn" comparison didn't seem that far off after all.)

"Well? I let you go, didn't I?" Tyler snarled, lenient in his actions but not in his words. "Why are you still here?"

Apparently, not even Josh himself knew, because he kept right on staring- up until Tyler's skin began to prickle and he took a threatening step forward, which was all it took to send Josh on his way; head down and legs quivering, he made a beeline for the door, which is what he should've done in the first place.

But for whatever reason, he didn't.

Tyler could only begin to wonder why as the door swung shut behind Josh's retreating form.

 

;

 

Very rarely did Tyler find himself conflicted. He always seemed to know exactly what he wanted, along with when and where he wanted it. Indecisiveness, hesitance, reluctance, you name it: it was all a foreign concept to him.

Which made his previous exchange with Josh all the more alarming. So alarming, in fact, that it was the only thing he could think about while taking notes in first period.

Well, _pretending_ to take notes, more like. Actually paying attention in class wasn't really his thing. His less-than-subpar grades were proof of that.

Luckily for him, he sat towards the back of the class, and there was no way in hell sixty-year-old Ms. Smith would be able to tell the difference between jotting down notes about biology and aimless doodling.

And he was definitely partaking in the latter.

His blunt pencil made lazy loops across the paper, gentle gray curls  against the white, curls, curly hair, _fuck-_

The lead snapped, and it was only then that he realized how tight he had been gripping the damn thing, how hard he was pressing down.

Fucking perfect.

_What's next, lover boy?_ an unhelpful voice at the back of his head purred. _You gonna fantasize about the freak during a game and miss a pass?_

And with that Tyler was snorting aloud at his own dumb thoughts, because _please_. He wasn't fantasizing, he was just... contemplating. Yeah.

_Oh, contemplating about how you wanna take the guy to prom or some shit? Is that it?_

This lead to Tyler making a rather distressed and indignant noise in the back of his throat, which caused several people near him to  turn their heads and raise their eyebrows. He could only glare pointedly at them through his embarrassment with a muttered "the fuck are you looking at?"

None of them seemed to be in the mood to deal with the bitter basketball captain, so they simply shrugged their shoulders and looked away; Tyler let out a soft sigh of relief, but it wasn't long before relief turned to burning anger.

_You're letting yourself get distracted by Josh Dun. Fucking Josh_ Dun _. What's wrong with you? He's not worth your damn time. You know that._

And yet, despite having written Josh off as "not worth his time", Tyler still found himself frantically scanning the hallway for the fucker once first period let out.

He didn't have to look long: in under a minute he had located the soft and startled boy and proceeded to haul his ass off to the bathroom.

Josh could already tell that something was different this time. Whether it was a good different or a bad different... well, he'd just have to wait and see.

Speaking of waiting- Tyler seemed to be taking his sweet time when it came to kicking Josh's ass, which was unusual seeing that he usually couldn't _wait_ to give the poor boy bruises that would last for weeks.

But instead of instantly pinning him up against a wall or slugging him so hard that his knees buckled, Tyler's grip on Josh's wrist loosened the minute they stumbled past the threshold of the bathroom door. In fact, it loosened so much that he _let go_.

Like a cat letting go of a mouse solely on the hunch that, for whatever reason, it wouldn't run away.

As it turns out, Tyler's hunch was correct: Josh didn't run. He didn't even seem to consider it. Instead, he watched with round eyes as the basketball captain began to pace back and forth across the greasy tile floor, teeth gritted and fingers tangled in his hair, yanking on the brown strands with a vengeance.

"I, uh... are you..?" Josh spluttered helplessly, taking a tentative step forward. How stupid of him to be even mildly concerned for someone who despised every fiber of his being. How fucking _stupid_. "Are you okay?"

"Do I fucking look like- god, what do you think?!" Tyler paused to snarl in reply; a part of him wilted when Josh flinched and stepped back just as easily as he had stepped forward. Deciding he didn't want to deal with the guilt at that moment, Tyler resumed pacing, and Josh continued to look on with troubled eyes.

A few moments later, the messy-haired boy gathered his courage and spoke again, his voice soft and quivering: "Why did you bring me here? Just to witness your mental breakdown? Or are you going to beat me up after all?"

And with that Tyler came to a full stop and growled, "I'm _not_ having a mental breakdown."

Josh raised a brow, unconvinced. "This is the first time I've seen you on edge. If not a mental breakdown, then what?"

"I..." Tyler felt every single retort and excuse and alibi he could've mustered die in his throat; an overwhelming sense of _I don't know_ took their place. "Fuck, I..."

And, god, the way Josh was looking at him, all round eyes and soft expressions- sympathy. He was genuinely fucking  _sympathetic_ towards the person that had made his life a living hell for the last six years.

Unbelievable. Tyler was at a loss for words.

So instead of talking he just stumbled back until his shoulders brushed against the greasy bathroom wall; sliding down to the floor, he buried his face in his hands and groaned the groan of someone who had never felt so conflicted and shitty in their entire life.

It was only when he heard the approaching footfalls of a particular messy-haired boy that he lifted his head and met Josh's eyes- the same eyes that were filled to the brim with concern.

Concern for _Tyler_.

Who would've fucking thought.

Josh clearly wasn't opposed to joining the basketball captain on the bacteria-ridden floor, shoulder blades bumping against the wall and legs neatly crossed. Tyler, the epitome of guilt and regret, could hardly bring himself to look at the kid. 

(Josh didn't go out of his way to make eye-contact, either, but that was more out of fear than shame.)

"Soo..." Dun began, gently clearing his throat. "What's eating you?"

Almost instantly Tyler recalled his words from the other day - _"are you my fucking therapist now or what?"_ \- but he didn't find himself willing to repeat them. In fact, for the first time in forever, he couldn't bring himself to say _anything_ cruel to Josh, who was peering at him both shyly and expectantly.

Figuring he had nothing to lose, Tyler mumbled, "I'm just... frustrated I guess."

"I know a thing or two about that," Josh snorted, and Tyler couldn't help but chuckle. "And what's frustrating you, exactly?"

"Why do you _care?_ " the jock shot back, partly to stall but also out of genuine curiosity. Why in god's name would Josh _Dun_ , of all people, actually care about his problems?

Caught a little off guard, Josh sputtered, "I asked you first."

Dammit.

Pulling his knees tight to his chest, Tyler ducked his head and was borderline bashful as he mumbled into his thighs, "I guess I'm just not used to feeling guilty."

Brows furrowing, Josh replied slowly, "And what do you have to feel guilty about, exactly?" _Other than beating me half to death almost every day for the past six years_.

(He had a feeling that saying the second part out loud wouldn't end pleasantly for him.)

A weighty sigh on Tyler's part; lifting his face to look a rather bewildered Josh in the eye, he was practically gritting his teeth as he uttered the words "I'm sorry."

And Josh? Well, he could do nothing but sit there, dumbstruck. Because Tyler Joseph didn't _apologize,_ let alonelook at him with a face swamped in utter shame. No, Tyler Joseph growled and punched Josh in the stomach and made him feel like absolute shit.

He didn't apologize.

And yet there he was, the very epitome of guilt, doing just that.

Huh.

Unnerved by Josh's bug-eyed staring and lack of words (a rather uncomfortable combination), Tyler shifted nervously in his place on the floor and went on to sputter and blubber and choke and ramble- all things Josh never expected to see a cool and collected basketball captain do.

Then again, that particular day seemed to be full of surprises. Might as well add Tyler's little speech to the pile:

"I- I'm sorry, Josh, so sorry. Really, I am. And I know- I know you probably don't believe me or whatever, but I'm telling the truth. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm _sorry_. For all of it- all the shit I've said, all the pain I've put you through... all the ways I've hurt you. I wish I could take it all back, I really do, but I can't and it's fucking _killing_ me because I've never hated you, Josh, not really. Which seems like complete bullshit, but I'm being one hundred percent honest here. I've hated myself and I've hated other people - people who've hurt me - but _you?_ God, I've put you through living hell and you... you haven't so much as looked at me funny. It fucking boggles my mind, you know that? It boggles my mind that someone I've beat the shit out of day after day has more compassion for me than I have for him. And I... god, Josh, I've just got all this _anger_ swirling inside me and I never know what to do with it. It just sits there and it _burns_ and I need to get it out so bad, and that's why... that's why..."

He was panting at that point, shoulders quivering and lungs heaving for air. And his eyes stung, but he was far too busy leaning further into the touch of the hand on his shoulder to figure out why; fingertips rubbed soothing circles while Josh hushed him softly, offering the most gentle and patient smile.

Tyler's eyelids fell shut in one exhausted motion, and he decided that this was the most drained he had ever felt. No basketball game had ever taken as much from him as the spilling of his emotions had; now he just felt... empty. A good empty. A "clean slate" empty.

A content empty.

Yes, never had he felt more at peace than with Josh's hand rubbing his shoulder as he sat upon the dirty bathroom floor, listening almost sleepily as Josh hummed soft reassurances.

There was a pause in the humming. "Looks like I'm your therapist after all, huh?"

Tyler's laughter bounced off of the bathroom walls like a ricocheting bullet made of joy rather than lead.

 

;

 

The boy's bathroom, once a place of terror and rage and impending doom, no longer seemed so scary after that. In fact, it was so much less intimidating that Josh didn't even hesitate to follow when Tyler crooked a beckoning finger towards him just moments before disappearing behind the swinging door.

Entering the bathroom softly and slowly with no clue of how well he was living up to the whole "chubby fawn" comparison, Josh found Tyler leaning against the wall with his hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pockets- a (failed) attempt at looking casual, no doubt. His pink cheeks and inability to meet Josh's gentle eyes ultimately betrayed the "cool and collected" façade.

"Did you, um... did you need something?" Josh asked quietly, taking a few more steps towards the bashful basketball captain; it was only then that Tyler looked up, looking almost as vulnerable as he had while spilling his guts to Josh the day before.

He cleared his throat, an almost nervous sound, and looked away again before going on to explain, "I guess I just wanted to say sorry. F-for breaking down on you yesterday, I mean. That was probably really weird for you and everything and I- I dunno. It won't happen again."

There was silence on Josh's end, and Tyler just wanted him to say something, _anything_. Desperately glancing up from the floor, he expected an uncomfortable expression or odd look, but was pleasantly surprised by what he received.

Josh was positively  _grinning_. And it wasn't a cruel or malicious grin, but one that was founded off of nothing but sincerity and sweet intentions; his reply was just as sweet and sincere as he stepped even closer, shaking his head. "Tyler, don't you get it? I wouldn't _care_ if it happened again. I'd be more than happy to listen and let you get whatever's bothering you off your chest. It's... not healthy to keep it all inside. I mean, you vented  _one time_ and we're making more progress than we have in six years-"

In that moment, Tyler decided he couldn't fucking take it anymore and lurched forward. Nimble fingers tangled in messy hair and Tyler was _kissing_ him and, dear god, it was a wonderful feeling-

Until he realized that Josh, stiff as a board, wasn't kissing him back.

_Oh, god. Oh, sweet mother of fuck. Knew this wasn't a good idea, knew it'd end badly, knew he hated your guts- what have you_ done _-_

He began pulling away in horror, practically choking around the heart in his throat as his mouth started forming the _s_ in the word "sorry."

But he never got the chance to apologize, because Josh had overcome his initial shock and was now desperately fumbling to tug Tyler closer. And then it was his turn to boldly press honeyed mouths together, nails curling into Tyler's shoulders as the jock moaned against Josh's cherry lips with both hunger and relief.

The fingers were wound tight in the mess of dark curls once again, tugging gentle and sweet while Tyler sucked on Josh's bottom lip like it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Josh whined high in his throat as he did so; it trailed off into a mess of whimpers as Tyler untangled a hand from Josh's hair in order to grab at one of his pudgy sides, the greedy fingertips sure to leave bruises on the soft skin.

NASA t-shirt riding up a little to reveal a strip of Josh's middle, Tyler brushed the pad of his thumb fondly against the exposed skin and grinned when he felt him shiver at the touch.

"The basketball team'll give you so much shit for this if they find out," Josh pointed out quietly as he drew back a tad (to Tyler's dismay and disappointment). "Are you sure-?"

"Fuck the basketball team," came the immediate reply. "Passing an orange ball to a bunch of asshats isn't all that fun, anyway."

Josh's troubled expression cracked at that, and the way he smiled at Tyler was ten times more satisfactory than making him bleed ever was.

**Author's Note:**

> i worked on this for three straight weeks and finished it at three in the morning,, glad to finally have this piece of shit out of my drafts. fucking bye


End file.
